


Brain Waves

by jaegermighty



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zombie problems, man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brain Waves

**1\. Case KC-98299: Victim Arlene Clark, age 67, official COD: natural causes (cardiac arrest)**

"Okay, make sure you take a sweater, it's chilly out today," Liv says. Peyton pauses halfway to the door, turning to give her a weird look, and Evan snorts loudly. "I mean - you know. It's winter, so."

"Thanks, Mom," Peyton says, bemused. "I wasn't aware."

Liv swallows and sits on her hands, the urge to get up and brush the lint from Peyton's suit jacket almost overwhelming. "I'm just saying."

"Alright," Peyton says, like she's trying not to laugh. "Thanks, I guess? Look, this meeting shouldn't last too long so don't start the movie without me, okay? Two hours tops."

"We're gonna eat the pizza without you though," Evan says, very firmly over the 'kiss her feet and maybe she'll let me see her boobs' phase of his relationship with Peyton, thank God. "Sorry, it'll get all gross."

"I think I'll live without the gastrointestinal nightmare that is...pepperoni and jalapeno pizza," Peyton says, scrunching up her face in disgust. "I'll just grab a sandwich or something on the way back."

"Well make sure it's healthy at least," Liv says, and then winces. Peyton levels her with another look, this one with more of a _really? Miss Sriracha 2015 is giving me diet advice?_ kind of vibe. "Um. That deli on Fifth is pretty good, I hear."

"...okay," Peyton says, blank faced. "Great. I'll see you soon."

The slam of the door shutting triggers a brain vision, and Liv white knuckles it through a flashback of Arlene scolding two of her grandchildren for going out in the rain without hats, which is...okay, so yeah she has a point. Pneumonia is a thing and as a former aspiring doctor, Liv is no stranger to the "I yell because I care about your immune system" stuff. But it was only _drizzling,_ and they _were_ only out for a few minutes. Take a chill pill, Grandma Arlene. 

"Oh, _gross,_ " Evan says gleefully, having not noticed Liv's disattention. She turns back to the TV just in time to see a zombie get ripped in half, literally. 

"Good Lord," Liv says, feeling oddly victimized. "Evan! Turn this filth off!"

"What, come on, I thought you liked The Walking Dead," Evan says.

Liv grabs the remote from the coffee table and switches the channel pointedly to PBS. "Not in my house, young man."

"Oh what is _up_ with you today," Evan cries, "did you drink some old lady juice or what?!"

"No," Liv snaps defensively. Look, she's not - she's not acting like Arlene too much, is she? It's perfectly reasonable to not want to watch her TV brethren be mutilated right before a meal. And worrying about Peyton's health is a normal friend thing...right? "Look. Let's learn about space. Space is cool, right?"

"I'm gonna tell Mom you're being a weirdo again," Evan threatens her. 

Liv ignores him stubbornly and turns the volume up. He'll thank her when he's older. 

 

 

**2\. Case KCh-87333: Victim Marcos Vargas, age 53, official COD: blunt force trauma to the head and torso**

"Liv," Clive says loudly, " _Liv_!"

Liv stops walking. "¿Qué es?"

"Are you," Clive says slowly, " _aware_ that you're not speaking English?"

Liv blinks at him. No, that's - of course she's speaking English. Right? "No estoy hablando - " she stops. "Wait. Shit."

"Man, these visions really do mess with you, huh?" Clive says, smirking a little. "You wanna repeat some of that back to me? I took French, not Spanish, remember?"

"How long was I doing it?" Liv asks, dismayed. Is that why the barista was looking at her so weird this morning? 

"Since, I dunno, the parking lot?" Clive shrugs. "I heard our vic's name so I assume you weren't commenting on the weather."

"No, I was asking if you thought maybe his daughter-in-law might have been the one to sabotage the railing instead of his son, like maybe she's angry that her husband got cut out of the business even if he wasn't, you know - seriously, since the parking lot? I didn't even notice."

"I tried to say something earlier but you were pretty, you know." Clive waves his hand vaguely. "Well, you weren't listening."

Liv sighs. Marcos was not the most open-minded or patient person in the world, clearly. She's had three visions since yesterday and all of them involved yelling. "Sorry."

Clive just shrugs, shaking his head and grinning a little. He always seems to find her weird personality phases amusing, which is a relief, at least. "S'alright. So you like Mrs. Vargas for it, huh? I mean, she had motive and opportunity, but does she really seem like the type? She seemed pretty upset when they ID'd the body."

"Could be guilt," Liv suggests. "They've got a baby on the way, she can't work, and her husband gets fired out of nowhere by his own father? Maybe she did what needed to be done, but couldn't handle the aftermath. Plus she just seems _shady_ to me, like all that makeup, and the _wailing_ , cielos! That boy never thinks with the _right head_ if you know what I mean - "

"Liv," Clive says.

Liv snaps her mouth shut. "Sorry."

"Maybe try to keep old Marcos quiet in the interrogation room," Clive suggests delicately. "The last thing we need is another harassment complaint."

"Right," Liv says sheepishly.

 

 

**3\. Case KC-49024: Victim Gary Fitzgerald, age 81, official COD: hypothermia**

"Since when are you a Republican?" Peyton asks, disgusted. 

"Around lunch yesterday," Liv replies miserably. Major throws her another angry look from across the room. "It's a long story."

"Right, I don't actually care," Peyton snaps, obviously just as pissed off, "well maybe keep the _welfare queen_ rants to yourself from now on, 'kay?"

"Sorry," Liv says meekly. Peyton scoffs and storms off, her heels making angry little clicks on the wooden floor. Liv watches her go silently, feeling absolutely rotten. 

"Don't let them get to you sweetheart, I thought everything you said sounded quite reasonable," her mother says, patting her shoulder gently. 

"Oh, fuck my life," Liv replies. 

 

 

**4\. Case KCh-32676: Victim Levi Miller, age 28, official COD: strangulation (likely suicide)**

"Do not come in!" Liv shouts, dragging another chair and adding it to the pile of furniture in front of the door, for good measure. "I'm serious, Rav!"

"I'm _not_ , Liv," Ravi replies, only somewhat muffled through the glass paned window, "would you please calm down and tell me what the issue is, you're freaking me out here."

Liv sits down gingerly on the couch, curling up into a ball and trying to breathe deeply. "Levi Miller was a sick man!" 

"Sick like murderer sick?" Ravi asks. She can see his silhouette through the blinds on the window, pacing restlessly outside the office. "Because this would hardly be the first sociopath you've eaten - is it stronger this time because you ate more? Are these personality traits more powerful when you eat a greater percentage of the brain tissue? We should test that - "

Liv whimpers, burying her face in her knees. 

"Liv? Seriously, are you alright?" Ravi calls, sounding worried now. Liv shakes her head wordlessly, digging her hands into her shins, trying to calm her heartbeat. "Come on, talk to me!"

"Can you please," Liv says, stopping to swallow thickly, "take a look at Mr. Miller's medical records? They should have been sent over by now."

"Yes, well, I would, but they're sitting on my desk," Ravi calls, "which I do not, coincidentally, have access to at the moment."

Liv takes a few more deep breaths, then rises carefully to her feet, moving to Ravi's desk chair. The records are in an accordion file on top of Rav's laptop, still sealed shut. "Okay, yeah they're here, just gimme a few minutes to go through them, alright?"

"Should I be alerting Detective Babineaux that we have a serial killer on our slab?" Ravi asks nervously. 

"No, not that kind of sick." Liv shifts in the chair and immediately regrets it, the movement sending a wave of shudders through her body. "Just please Rav, your voice is - I'm fine, okay? I just need some, uh, alone time."

"Alright," Ravi replies, reluctantly. "Do you have your phone? I need you to text me if you need anything."

"Yes, I have my phone."

" _Promise_ me, Liv."

Liv reaches into her pocket for her cell phone, which ends up being a mistake. The wave of sensation from the movement - and the texture of her jeans against her skin - is so powerful that she actually cries out, sagging against the desk and gasping so loudly she actually gets a bit lightheaded.

" _Liv_ ," Ravi says, anxiously. 

"Okay," Liv says, laying her head down on the desk, grateful for the cool wood against her overheated skin, "there are several romance novels I've read that made this seem _much_ more fun than it is."

Ravi pauses. "Sorry?"

"I'll text you!" Liv promises. "Go away!"

She can hear him sigh in annoyance, but he does finally retreat, muttering under his breath. Liv waits until he's gone to try and sit up and investigate the records, her body still throbbing. 

"'Persistent genital arousal disorder,'" she reads, flipping through the multiple charts and reports. This guy was a walking medical study, apparently. She thinks of the crime scene - the rows of prescriptions on the counter, the piles of dirty clothes and dishes in every spare corner. Liv feels a stab of sympathy - God. That's no way to live. 

Liv swipes the records aside and tries to stand, but immediately collapses back in the chair, crying out again when her phone starts buzzing in her pocket, right against her hip. She pulls it out desperately, panting, barely able to concentrate enough to read Ravi's text.

_Just got a heads up from Det. Armstrong - new customer incoming. New snack ASAP, y/y?_

"Yes, God, _please,_ " Liv says, out loud, then claps one hand over her mouth, embarrassed by how, uh. _Loud_ that was. 

_I heard that_ , Ravi texts.

 

 

**5\. Case KCd-70003: Victim Fyodor Biryukov, age 43, official COD: undetermined**

"Is that _Fall Out Boy?_ " Liv asks, incredulous. "Please. God. Turn it off before I puke."

"Wow, okay," Lowell says, eyeing her sideways as he switches off the radio, "didn't know you held such strong opinions on the pop punk genre."

Liv scoffs before she can stop herself, then gasps out loud as soon as she realizes. "Oh God, I didn't mean - I like your music, I swear. I just - "

"Ate an old man brain?" Lowell replies, then laughs at Liv's expression. "I figured as much. Don't worry about it, Liv."

"You know, I really _hate_ this a lot," Liv says, in frustration. "It just...comes out. I can stop it sometimes, but it's like the second I stop paying attention, whatever brain I ate that week just takes over and suddenly I'm yelling at a waitress about pine nuts."

"Pine nuts?" Lowell asks.

"Yeah, he was allergic," Liv mumbles. "I have no feelings about Fall Out Boy one way or the other! I could take or leave Fall Out Boy, personally. But Fyodor Biryukov hated any kind of music that wasn't written by a dead German guy, so here we are, I guess."

"You know," Lowell says, leaning back in his seat, draping one wrist over the steering wheel in a move that would bother Liv normally - driving safety! - but Fyodor didn't really care about that, so neither does she, at the moment. "I once ate the brain of a chronic cigar smoker which is, incidentally, the reason I was kicked out of my last flat." Lowell sighs. "Those things are hell on the vocal cords, even dead ones."

Liv grimaces. "Yeah, I ate a smoker last month. That was horrible."

"Alcoholics are worse," Lowell says. "The shakes? Bloody hell. Put me off booze for months."

"Oh my God," Liv exclaims, "remind me to tell you about Levi Miller sometime. Maybe when we've known each other a little longer, because - talk about embarrassing."

"Can't be more embarrassing than last weekend," Lowell says.

Liv laughs at the memory. Peyton wasn't too happy about the courtyard serenade at two o'clock in the morning, but Liv had definitely laughed her ass off. "I thought it was romantic!"

"Romantic, crazy…" Lowell grins. "What's the difference? Cripes, I felt like Fabio on steroids. I don't know who that woman was really, but she clearly needed to _calm down_ a bit."

Liv sighs, leaning back against the headrest. "I guess we should just get used to it. Not like we can really do anything about it."

"Well your friend is looking for a cure, is he not?" Lowell asks. He doesn't sound all that hopeful.

"Yeah," Liv says listlessly. 

A sober silence falls, punctuated only by the tinny sounds of the radio. Lowell sighs, after a minute. 

"You know," Lowell says after a while, "I suppose it's par for the course for two dead people, but most of our dates do tend to turn out rather depressing."

"Sorry," Liv says ruefully. 

"No, no, it's good to talk about it." Lowell cocks his head. "Don't really have anyone else to do that with, so."

Liv reaches out for his hand, resting on the gearshift, squeezing his fingers. He smiles a bit, not looking away from the road. "Well, it's not all bad, is it? Did I tell you about the time I beat the crap out of a mobster?" 

" _No,_ " Lowell says, sounding intrigued. "I would have remembered you informing me that I'm dating an _action hero_."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Liv says.

"Well do tell, and we'll have a vote at the end," Lowell says.

 

 

**+1. Case KCh-42937: Victim Desiree Hudson, age 21, official COD: gunshot wound (upper torso)**

"Are you…" Ravi says, "...tap dancing?"

"I...think so?" Liv riff walks her way across the sidewalk, laughing a little at herself. The moves feel instinctive, as do the names for them - that's a kick ball change, this is a paradiddle. "Paradiddle?"

"What?" Ravi's grinning at her, his face lit up in delight. 

"It's the name of a move," Liv says, and demonstrates for his benefit. "Wow. I mean, I had a vision inside of Desiree at a recital, I guess that must have...inspired some muscle memory or something."

"Apparently. Don't look now, but you've an audience," he replies, and Liv twirls around to see two young girls, standing outside a cafe and watching her. As soon as she meets their eyes they turn away quickly, whispering to each other. 

"Oh," Liv says. 

"This is adorable," Ravi says, still grinning. "Honestly, look - one of them's got ballet shoes on."

"Well," Liv says weakly, torn between embarrassment and pride, "they're probably students at the studio. There was a ballet class that was just letting out inside, remember?" 

"You should go talk to them," Ravi urges, nudging Liv's elbow. Off her look, he raises his eyebrows. "Not for the _case_. Just...you know. Because it's adorable!"

"We should get back to the morgue," Liv argues weakly, glancing back over at the girls. "We have work to do…"

Ravi scoffs. "Dead bodies will wait, Liv," he says. "Just go have a chat! I'll bring the car around." Liv sighs and nods, unable to come up with a decent excuse. Ravi grins and nudges her again. "Be right back."

Turning around as he leaves, Liv tries to put on her friendliest expression possible, watching the girls' eyes widen as she starts to approach. 

"Sorry we were staring," one of them says, as soon as Liv is close enough to hear. They're a bit older than she'd thought before, now that she sees them up close. 

"It's okay," Liv says, feeling sort of weird about this. What does Ravi want her to say, exactly? "I wasn't mad or anything. I just, uh, wanted to come say hi."

"Hi," says the other girl shyly, the one who hadn't spoken before.

"Hi," Liv says. Silence falls. "Um. So - "

"You work for the police," says the first girl. Liv blinks at her, and the girl's chin juts out a bit. She's got false eyelashes on with bits of pink glitter in them, and her hair is pulled into an elaborate bun on top of her head. She's more stylish than Liv is, honestly. "You're tryin' to find out who shot Miss Hudson."

"I, uh," Liv says, taken aback, "work for the Medical Examiner's office. So...yes. Technically."

"You better find 'em and put 'em in jail," the girl continues, and her friend gasps, elbowing her. "Ow! Quit it, Lana!"

"We're working on it," Liv rushes to say, before it turns into a fight. "Really, we are."

"My mom says that the police don't care about people," says the girl. Her friend - the easily scandalized Lana, apparently - gasps again. "Well, that's what she says!"

"Well," Liv says carefully, "she's right. Some of them don't. But a few do." She smiles hopefully. "Some of them care about dancing, even."

"Yeah, you seem pretty good," the girl replies, reluctantly.

Liv grins at her, bolstered. "What's your name? I'm Liv."

"Michelle."

"Nice to meet you, Michelle," Liv says. "Were you one of Miss Hudson's students?"

"We both were," Lana chimes in. She's still eyeing Liv nervously, clutching at Michelle's arm. "She taught us ballet."

"The new teacher's not as good," Michelle adds. "She talks too much and the stuff she does is way too hard."

Liv frowns. "Like the steps? They're too advanced?"

"Yeah, I mean _we_ can do them," Michelle rushes to say. "Lana and me are the best in the class, but some of the younger kids can't keep up. And Mrs. Armstrong - that's the new teacher - just says they're being whiny when they tell her that."

"Yeah, she's kind of mean," Lana says. 

Liv blinks at them both, something in the girl's voice triggering something inside of her. It's definitely coming from Desiree, but it's not like a normal vision - more like an urge, or a compulsion, almost. Her hands twitch, and tears spring to her eyes. She really, really wants to hug them. Really bad. 

"Well," she says, clearing the frog from her throat. "You know what that means? You gotta help them."

Michelle and Lana make almost identical, scrunched-up faces of confusion at her. Liv's heart literally skips a beat. "Help them how?" Lana asks. 

"Oh come on, how do you think?" Liv says. "They listen to you! Michelle, you're so good at helping the younger ones with the steps, remember the - " Liv cuts herself off before she starts talking about a recital that she definitely should not know about. She's probably being weird enough already. "I mean, you seem like the type. And Lana, you always find a way to help everyone get along, and you can cheer _anyone_ up when they're sad." Liv pauses, and smiles ruefully. "I mean, I'm guessing. But yeah."

The girls look at each other, still frowning. Michelle turns a skeptical eye on Liv, her jaw still set in a stubborn line.

"Listen," Liv says intently, "you're gonna have bad teachers. Not all of them will be like Miss Hudson. Some of them are gonna have big egos - and all girls know what it's like to deal with _that_ , like, right?" Lana giggles, and Michelle cracks a bit, smiling down at her feet. "But don't think of those times like obstacles, think of them as _opportunities._ It's like God's way of asking you to fill in the blanks."

Michelle purses her lips, trading another loaded look with Lana. "Yeah," she says, after a minute. "I guess that makes sense."

"That's what Miss Hudson used to say," Lana adds cheerfully, her face falling after a second. "When bad things happen, it's just because God wants us to fix them."

Liv nods encouragingly. "I'm sure that Miss Hudson was very proud of you guys. In fact," Liv says, pausing carefully to gather her words, "I think that she was probably very honored to be your teacher."

Lana bites her lip and starts playing with her jacket, and Michelle shuffles her feet, her jaw moving back and forth. Liv smiles at them kindly, thinking of a young Desiree Hudson, sitting in a ballet class and wanting very badly to be just like her teacher when she grew up, because she was obviously the most beautiful and talented lady in the whole wide world. 

The thing is, she was already beautiful and talented. And she made others around her feel like that, too. Liv doesn't need an inside look at her brain to know that. 

"Thanks," Michelle finally says shortly, her arms crossed defensively across her chest. Lana sniffs a few times, rubbing furiously at her nose, and Liv knows it's time to go. 

"Good luck with Mrs. Armstrong," she tells them. "And get home! It's supposed to rain soon."

The girls roll their eyes almost in unison, pulling at each other's hands as they turn and scamper off down the street. Liv watches them go, her heart overfull and trembling. 

Ravi pulls up after a few minutes, waving at her from inside his car. Liv takes a deep breath, and climbs in. 

"You alright there?" Ravi asks, kindly not looking at her as she wipes at her face. 

"Yeah," Liv says, laughing a little and looking over at him fondly. "You always make me do that."

"Do what?" 

"Things I need to do but don't want to do." Liv wipes at her face again, shaking her head at herself. She's such a mess sometimes. "You knew they were her students, didn't you?"

Ravi shrugs as he pulls back out into traffic. "You've had a lot of...unsavory characters in your head lately," he says. "I thought it would help to spend some time with a really good one."

"Yeah," Liv says unsteadily. "It did." She feels her resolve harden into determination. "She _was_ a really good person. One of the best. And I'm gonna find out who did this to her."

"Of that," Ravi says, smiling with simple confidence, "I have no doubt."


End file.
